The Weight of Being A WOMEN

Being a woman, an emotional creature, swayed by hormones and haunted by reason; sometimes feels like living in two bodies at once.

These days, I question my existence. Not because I’m unhappy, but because my mind seeks both peace and chaos. The routines I built cradle me in calm, yet another part of me thirsty for change, progress, adventure. But that cautious voice whispers: It’s too risky. Too uncertain, don't.

It’s no secret that I hate change. My rituals are what keep me sane. They’re my way of ordering the storm within. But at times, I feel stuck like my own comfort has become my prison.

Some days, I wish I could dissolve into the sky like a white cloud, drift freely down a river, or bloom silently like a flower. Because I feel too much. Care too much. Drift too much. Yet reality hits with responsibility, expectation, and heavy weight of dreams.

I am expected to study, achieve, work, marry, raise, go above and beyond for family, stay patient, cook, clean, teach, give advice. These expectations drown me. They drained the light out of me.

As a teenager, I had a timeline for everything. None of it unfolded as planned. So, I hit the brakes and slowed down. Realizing I am human and not invincible. Then I made peace with it, however Society didn’t. instead, it threw words like knives, sharp enough to pierce the peace I built.

And yes Afterall, I still feel. I still yearn. I still hurt.

Maybe some will call me dramatic. Maybe I am. But if you’ve ever felt the way the world shapes you against your will, if you’ve ever lived under its spell, then perhaps you understand too.